


monsters at our door

by reginar



Series: monsters at our door [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Embedded Images, Gen, Humor, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginar/pseuds/reginar
Summary: “Yakov, you know Yuuri and I are Drift compatible,” cried Viktor. “You saw it! We practically had sex in the Kwoon!” At his side, a choking sound was heard, presumably Chris repressing laughter.There was a loud slam on the table, where Yakov’s hand now rested. “Viktor Yakovlevich,” he said slowly, “why are you like this?”





	1. Big Booty Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to renaissance for helping me. <3

The interior of the Sikorsky was all sleek, black leather, formal and commanding, while outside, there was a flurry of white snow, some splattering against the window pane. It was not excessively fancy, but it had a level of comfort that Viktor had not experienced in four years, nine months—the exact period he’d been away. He spent the ride needling Yakov about his greying hair, his bald spot, and his bulging stomach, while presenting a wide smile and nothing else for every question Yakov barked at him about his disappearance. In truth, Yakov appeared a little worn; his cheeks sagged deeper in his frown, and, under all his coats, Viktor could guess he’d lost some weight, too. It didn’t escape Viktor that Yakov was missing the usual five-star insignia on his collar.

Something wasn’t right, but, at the moment, Viktor decided to observe instead of ask. He leaned back on the leather seat, trying to look relaxed as he redirected the conversation back to how Yakov had really let himself go.

Giving up, Yakov let out a gruff. “You cut your hair,” he said, twisting a bottle of water open and drinking from it.

“I can’t maintain my long hair even if I work at the top of the wall,” Viktor said lightly. His hair had been his most distinctive feature, and it was the first one to go when he wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov anymore. He couldn’t very well change his face, so he’d worn a face mask whenever he’d go out of his shack near Iwaki station in Fukushima, at the border of the Boneslum. Most workers had left him alone, thinking he was some strangely strong, eccentric old man, a facade he’d decided to keep up by faking his voice whenever a rare conversation would pass him. It did make getting a higher pay difficult because no one would let an old man, no matter how strong and skilled, at the top of the wall.

“You wouldn’t have worked on any part of that useless wall if you’ve never left, you fool.”

“Ah, Yakov! I missed you, too.”

“I’m starting to regret having you around again.”

Of course, the fact that Yakov had jumped onto a helicopter to fetch Viktor personally from a city barely three hours away by car—two with a PPDC-licensed vehicle—pointed to the exact opposite sentiment.

“Giacometti had to track you all over the world,” said Yakov with a grunt, “and you’re just in Japan after all this time?”

“Japan is a nice country, even with the Boneslums.”

“Great that you like it, then, because you’re gonna be working here with Giacometti and some new people in the next few days.”

The aircraft operated on a gentle hum, keeping out the noise of the rotor and dull thuds of snow, but Viktor chose to pretend that they had caught his attention as he looked out of the window, tracing the wet trails for effect. He did not, for a moment, ever believe that he was convincing enough, but Yakov humored him anyway.

The pilot informed them via intercom that they were nearing their destination. Viktor peered beyond, taking in the view of Tokyo Shatterdome sprawling over Tama River and across the border to what had been a chemical plant in Kawasaki. Buildings of incredible height reached the sky, and surrounding them were seven colossal domes along the shores, three-hundred-foot-tall doors lined up the sides. The cities in vicinity looked almost flat in comparison.

Before they were relocated to Vladivostok, there’d been a spot in the mess hall where ten-year-old Viktor had sat after dragging Yakov or Lilia or both for their meals and claimed that he was in two places at once—Tokyo and Kawasaki, the Rangers had said so. It was newly built back then. Now, the once streamlined exterior of the structure was stained and rusty, trimmed with snow on every surface and crevice, like a very odd snow globe. The helicopter flew past the Jaeger bays and domes. From above, Viktor saw dispersed movement of dots he knew to be vehicles and people, seemingly without order but were following a strict schedule on conveyor platform tracks, and he was almost nostalgic about the good old days and the everyday rush that had enveloped his childhood and well into his adulthood.

As the helicopter lowered itself onto the middle of the three helipads, Viktor saw a huge, black umbrella which seemed to contain their welcoming committee. There were two figures underneath, and he squinted to see if he knew either of them. Heart dropping, he recognized the one with blonde hair to be Christophe Giacometti, his co-pilot. Chris stepped out of the umbrella and made a wide, sweeping motion with his arms, then back, waving in broad strokes cheerfully until the craft landed.

For a moment, Viktor couldn’t breathe, his chest constricting, but he forced himself to calm down. Yakov glanced at him before opening the door and stepping out. Viktor followed suit.

“You certainly took your time,” said Chris, holding out a second umbrella for Yakov to take. With his round glasses, he looked subdued. He grinned at Viktor, gave him a pat, and stepped back under the first one. “Did you get yourself a Starbucks, at least?”

Viktor was about to respond something light and casual—and insignificant, really—when he noticed the man standing beside Chris: He had slightly messy and dark hair and wore blue-rimmed glasses that rested dangerously at the tip of his nose. Standing a few inches shorter, he had to look up at Viktor, brown eyes wide and curious. There was something tender in his expression, then he sighed deeply and pursed his lips. He tilted his head slightly to Chris and said something in Japanese.

The thing was that Viktor had spent the past five or so years along the coasts of Japan that faced the Pacific ocean and hiding within the dense crowd of Anti-Kaiju Wall workers who were mostly Japanese. Before that, he and his biological parents had moved from St. Petersburg to Korsakov, a fishing town at the southern tip of Sakhalin Oblast, and it had enough Japanese population for Viktor to grow up learning a second language by the time he was nine.

That was to say, when the man had told Chris, “I imagined him differently,” Viktor understood perfectly. Ah, he hadn’t expected that to sting. Barely an hour back and he’d already disappointed one person—a cute one, at that.

Viktor flashed a smile. “I apologize for not meeting your standard,” he replied in Japanese.

The man flinched, slowly looking at Viktor as realization dawned on him. He bowed at once. “Sorry! I didn’t—I’m sorry.” When he straightened up, he refused to look at Viktor eye-to-eye, instead opting to give Chris a pleading look. His cheeks darkened in what Viktor could only assume as embarrassment.

“Don’t be rude, Vitya,” said Yakov, shooting him a glare. “This is Katsuki Yuuri.”

Chris laughed but didn’t say anything. That earned a small frustrated groan from Yuuri, who marched ahead, and the group followed to drag their feet across the snow-covered path. As they waited outside the elevator doors, a chunk plopped onto Viktor and Yakov’s umbrella, a soft hit but it made Viktor look up. On the side, the steel column told them they were currently on level 42. It was indistinct, ten years too old and needed repainting. The strange familiarity of the place, where everything was the same but aged, was both confusing and comforting.

“Katsuki here,” said Yakov, and Yuuri’s back visibly snapped straight at the mention of his name, “took care of Makkachin the past month.”

“Makkachin!” cried Viktor, craning his head from side to side as if he’d find the poodle out with them. There was a lot to regret when he’d left Vladivostok, but he knew leaving Makkachin behind was one of his better decisions. He’d hardly scraped by to feed himself; taking his poodle would kill her. Viktor skipped forward to tap Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri yelped, spun around, and swept an arm to deflect Viktor’s hand.

Viktor blinked. “Nice reflex. Are you a Ranger?”

Chris looked on, seemingly amused, as he gripped his and Yuuri’s umbrella. “Stop scaring him, Viktor.”

“I was just going to ask about Makkachin!” Viktor whined. “How is she, Yuuri?

Yuuri’s voice came as a squeak. “She’s a good dog. I—I mean, she’s fine.”

The elevator arrived, doors sliding open to accommodate them into its iron skeleton of a body. They shook their umbrella of snow, which slid through the grilled floor. The shaft didn’t have any insulation aside from the actual surrounding walls, and the lamps upon the girders hardly provided light, much less warmth. Some work crews pushed through what looked like a deformed squid in a glass tank—a part of a Kaiju, but Viktor hadn’t spent time in the K-Science labs all that often, except to pick up little Yuri whenever his grandfather had brought him to work, so he didn’t know which part specifically.

“Get out of my way!” a deep, harsh voice yelled from the distance.

Viktor looked to find a small, blonde boy shouldering his way past muscular and armed soldiers. He lifted a foot in the air to prevent the doors from closing. It was impressive how another boy, barely taller, caught his shoulders almost on instinct to help him balance. They entered the elevator like nothing unusual happened, and Viktor’s company did not react to it as if this was a normal occurrence.

“This is Yura, you remember him?” said Yakov with a gesturing hand. “He’s helping out in the K-Science Lab. And Otabek Altin, a junior scientist.”

“Yura, you’ve grown so much!” said Victor and grinned. He reached out to pat Yuri’s head, as he always did when they were younger, but Yuri avoided him and growled. 

“Fuck off, Nikiforov.”

“Yura,” said Yakov warningly, and Yuri grunted and crossed his arms.

Viktor shrugged, not letting his confusion show. He glanced at Yuuri, who was pointedly staring at the red pulsing light on each level passed, then to Chris, who gave him a look that clearly said _not now_. Viktor surveyed Yuri in front of him, blonde hair now down to his shoulders and gracefully lanky. Yuri narrowed his eyes at Viktor but said nothing. Beside him, Otabek took off his leather jacket and stretched out a hand. Viktor shook it once, a firm grip, and noticed Otabek’s tattoo-covered wrist.

“Kaijus? Trespasser, Hundun, Kaiceph…”

Otabek nodded. “Inked in order of appearance. Drawn to one to four-hundred-and-fifty scale.” He pulled back his sleeves on both arms to show the more recent Kaijus. The tattoos looked more like a chart. “It makes studying them a little easier, sir.”

That wasn’t what Viktor was expecting. He thought Otabek would say they were cool or something along that line. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

“Vitya.”

Yakov spoke in his commanding tone that pulled old habits and made Viktor respond, “Yes, Marshal Feltsman?”

“We’re here.” The door slid open, and Yakov pointed ahead. “This way.” Turning to Yuri and Otabek, he said, “Debrief in ten.”

“Understood, Marshal,” said Otabek with a nod.

Yakov led them down a corridor. “They’re our research division—Kaiju Science.”

“They’re children. Yura… is a child.”

“Yura’s coping, and I can’t refuse him. They’ve what we have left. We’re not an army anymore, Vitya. We’re the resistance.”

That didn’t clear things up for Viktor at all. And yet, he liked the sound of it. The reason why he was here, getting reintroduced to everything, was because he always resisted orders.

“Giacometti is now in charge of the Mark-3 Restoration Program.”

Chris gave Viktor a sly smile and walked on ahead. He pressed a code to a keypad that opened the huge and heavy doors at the end of the corridor. The chatter of the work crews, the sound of tools, cogs, and wheels reached Viktor first before the sight—they were a familiar atmosphere, not just because he’d been a Ranger, but because they had surrounded Viktor growing up, whenever he’d tailed either Lilia or Yakov in their work. Beyond the entrance, he saw a busy network of vehicles and crews crisscrossing the wide space. His feet, on autopilot, carried him forward weakly, and he vaguely registered Chris’s grin or Yakov’s grunt. Viktor reckoned the place to be twice as tall as an average Jaeger, approximately five-hundred to six-hundred feet, larger than the memories that had almost faded from his head. Creating the domed shape were broad sheets of metal that could open and close like petals when needed, and from the center of the place, seven tracks radiated out leading to six Jaeger bays and one to the Scramble Alley, which was a ramp for direct deployment to Tokyo bay. Overlooking it all was the command center, LOCCENT, on a mezzanine above.

“Welcome to the Shatterdome,” said Yakov from behind him, and there was fondness in his voice that only Viktor could detect.

 _Welcome home_ was what Viktor heard, and excitement rang in his ears. 

As wide as the entryway below it, there was an old-fashioned flip clock, he noticed, but it was not displaying the current time. He was sure it should be at eighteen-hundred hours, and not ten, but when he spun around to face Yakov, what he asked was different: “What—oh, where’s Yuuri?”

“He excused himself and left. Not paying attention as usual, Vitya.”

“Wasn’t he supposed to come with us? To tour me? That’s what we’re doing, right?”

“No,” said Chris, chuckling, “I only dragged him with me, but he had… to take care of something.”

He chuckled again, but Viktor didn’t know what was funny. It was odd that Chris knew something he didn’t—and not because he was better, he found himself thinking firmly. They had Drifted for almost three years before Viktor left, and in those years, they’d been in sync, knowing each other’s thoughts before their sentences would end. After everything, distance was inevitable, and he felt a pang in his chest that he hadn’t given attention to for years. Proximity to the Shatterdome seemed like opening old wounds.

“What’s that?” Viktor asked about the clock.

“War clock,” said Chris. “Determines how long since a Kaiju last attacked.”

Yakov led them to a raised platform, giving them a better view of the on-going activities in the Shatterdome. He pointed at the nearest Jaeger. “Terra Incognita, a Mark-4 from Hong Kong, piloted by Phichit Chulanont, Ji Guang-Hong, and Leo de la Iglesia, all young kids but precise. They’ve defended the shores of Southeast Asia successfully the past two years.”

Terra Incognita stood with dignity, a gigantic bronze statue. It was famed for having three pilots, perfectly Drift compatible despite having no relation to each other. Even in seclusion, Viktor had heard about it and its three deadly arms. Apparently, the shared neural load made the control easier for all of them. But as Viktor looked down the base of the Jaeger, he found three teenagers, barely twenty, taking a selfie aided by a selfie stick and making silly faces at the camera.

“Bolshoi Appassionata, Mark-1,” Yakov continued, gesturing at the next bay.

Viktor would never forget Bolshoi Appassionata. In the ruins of Korsakov, it saved him. “Yours and Lilia’s,” he said, nodding.

The tank wasn’t pretty, but it was strong. There was heaviness in its body that looked lethal, the black steel hull rough and intimidating. It lacked the elegance its name seemed to convey, only flashes of pink and red at the edges, barely visible, but it was never built for beauty.

“Revamped. Much better than she used to be. Sara Crispino and Mila Babicheva pilot her now.”

“Mila? Little Mila?”

“She was thirteen when you left,” Chris piped in.

“And she was _little_.”

Mila sat on the foot of the Jaeger beside a portable radio, listening to music Viktor couldn’t hear and talking to another woman with long, black hair. He assumed that to be Sara Crispino.

“And that is King JJ,” Yakov went on, indicating the Jaeger that stood out the most with its bright red body, only accentuated more by the gold highlights on its limbs and torso. “From Anchorage, and first of the Mark-5’s. They were supposed to be relocated weeks ago, but they got delayed, which was lucky. They managed to kill the Kaiju Mutavore in Canada this morning.”

King JJ had a handful of technicians giving it attention. Some of them were taking out its blade retractors for maintenance and sharpening; it seemed that they got dented a little from the recent battle. A few gathered at the joints for in-depth cleaning of Kaiju gunk, while others replenished coolants, lubricants, and oxygen.

“The pilots are Alain Leroy and his son Jean-Jacques Leroy, I’m sure you know them. They’ll be running point.”

“I know Alain Leroy, yes,” said Viktor, frowning. “What does JJ stand for?”

Yakov raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer. He was probably waiting for Viktor to ask the more important question. But Viktor didn’t need to. He understood perfectly that “running point” meant that the Jaegers would be used for an offensive, and that would mean one thing: The Breach.

“We managed to acquire a thermonuclear warhead, thanks to the Italians—the Crispino twins, Sara and Michele—and we’ll strap it on King JJ’s back. Twenty-four hundred pounds, with a detonation yield of 1.2 million tons of TNT. You and the other two Jaegers will run defense for them. Operation Pitfall.”

“Ah.” Viktor kept a straight face, and glanced at Chris, wondering what he thought of it. They’d done this before, but the Breach never let anything through. Something had changed, then. “I see.”

Yakov sighed. “I don’t know why you’re not asking questions, and I usually prefer that but…” He shook his head. “Giacometti will show you to your Jaeger.”

Viktor felt his pulse quicken. Something must’ve shown on his face because Chris said, “Look who’s excited,” before leading him out.

According to Chris, the complex housed seven Shatterdomes and used to launch six Jaegers in each bay. Now, without funding from PPDC, only SD3 was being utilized, with the rest existing now for storage. Viktor followed Chris, keeping himself at a distance. They went through a security door to the side.

Repair crews worked on parts the size of a car. Tools spilled across the floor and wires criss-crossed the space that Viktor had to watch his steps carefully. Chris waited patiently for him by the railings, and when he reached it, he looked up to find himself staring directly at his Jaeger’s nuclear heart.

“ _Big booty bitch_ ,” he whispered reverently and, beside him, Chris barked out a laugh.

“I haven’t heard anyone else call her that in _years_ , you know,” said Chris, eyes twinkling. “Glad that you’re back.”

Lilac Fairy was whole, Viktor noted, with her long, lithe arms for quick and swift with attacks, and wide, thick legs for heavy kicking. Her body was repainted to its original state, silver with lilac accents like the briefest moment in a sunset in Tokyo. She appeared as though she were reborn and ready for another fight. And it sunk in then that Viktor was a Ranger again. He stood in front of Lilac Fairy beside his co-pilot, Chris—

Viktor wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed it—and he did because he’d spent his years constantly beside Chris—but Chris moved like he didn’t know what to do with his right arm, stretching it slightly one second, then placing it in a weird position on his hip next. Most times, it seemed to float an inch away from his side. Viktor felt a phantom ache in his own limb, right above his elbow, piercing through his muscle and breaking his bone—something quite close to the pain in his chest that he wanted to rub away. Admittedly, he didn’t know if he wanted to Drift with Chris again, to lay bare the guilt he’d escaped from the past five years—five years he hoped had been kind to Chris. Was a stranger preferable? Should he ask?

He hadn’t gotten the whole picture yet, but he knew he would need to be Viktor Nikiforov again, the Ranger, the pilot, but not with Chris. To expose himself to someone new…

Viktor shook his head.

“She looks amazing,” he said.

“Of course. She’s one of a kind now.”

“Solid iron hull,” said someone from behind them. They both turned to a man smoothly gliding over the mess on the floor. He wore a striped shirt strapped in with suspenders, an iconic bowtie under his chin, and a smug grin. “No alloys. Forty engine blocks per muscle strand. Hyper-torque drivers in every limb and a new fluid synapse system. And Chris oversaw it all.”

“Matthieu!” Viktor exclaimed.

Matthieu Barthes, the J-tech leader and an old friend. He deployed all LOCCENT commands to Jaegers in the field.

“How’ve you been?”

“Marshal Feltsman has me on Breach watch day and night. Six-month sleep-deprivation. Caffeine in my own synapse system.” Matthieu studied Viktor and his face turned serious. “Are you ready for the Drift?”

“Of course,” said Viktor without a beat, not because he was certain, but because it was expected. “Viktor Nikiforov is back.” He gave a camera-ready smile, and it felt stiff; he hadn’t used that one in a long time.

Honestly, he wasn’t ready to unearth his own memories, ones he’d kept at a distance, but he was sure were always there, waiting. He’d kept them at bay for a while by keeping himself busy, focusing on building a useless wall with other people who needed a job—now, he was going to walk directly into them without any sort of defense. At the corner of his eyes, he saw Chris frowning in contemplation, and it pained him to know that he didn’t know what Chris was thinking about.

“I need to unpack,” said Viktor. He didn’t have a lot to unpack. “And visit Lilia.”

“Let’s get some food into your body first. You look like you lost some cheeks,” said Chris, relaxing his features. “See you later, Matthieu.”

The repair bay was located left of the main Shatterdome, thus they took a different corridor back to the elevator. Had Viktor given some thought about romance in the past ten or fifteen years, he would’ve considered this a romantic moment, one instigated by Chris: They passed by the Kwoon and Viktor had to stop and stare. Inside, training all by himself, was the man who had disappeared only half an hour or so ago. Katsuki Yuuri held the dark-red hanbō firmly in his hands as he practiced some drills. The sheen of sweat made his body glow under the lamps. Pausing, he wiped his face with the bottom of his dark tank top—of course, if he trained like this regularly, he’d have those abs. _Of course_ , a voice in Viktor’s head said matter-of-factly. Without his bulky PPDC jacket, Yuuri was long and lean, with bony hands and shoulders and muscular legs showing through his tight-fitting trousers.

Realizing what he was doing, Viktor tore his gaze away from Yuuri and marched ahead past Chris, who leaned on the wall, arms crossed, and looked smug.

“Viktor, close your mouth.”

Viktor pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t. Come on, after dinner, you can unpack, then visit Sergeant Baranovskaya and Makkachin.”

As they went down the elevator, Viktor thought, _Chris is still ridiculous_. Viktor hadn’t thought of life outside being a Ranger, least of all anything concerning a life with love. When they were still co-pilots, he had briefly considered Chris, and Chris knew he did, too. But Viktor couldn’t, not when Chris thought he was only a default choice, not when Chris was right. So they stayed friends.

  

* * *

 

 

Viktor had almost vibrated with excitement when he and Chris were summoned at Yakov’s office. They’d graduated recently from the Jaeger Academy, and were deployed at Vladivostok Shatterdome, which was convenient for Viktor, because that meant proximity to family. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone to Yakov’s, but coming with Chris meant something.

“You two are chosen as the inaugural pilots for one of the new Mark-3’s,” said Yakov, fingers steepled in front of his face. “That gives you the privilege of naming the Jaeger.” He held up a photograph. “I let Sergeant Baranovskaya, my co-pilot then, name Bolshoi Appassionata, but you two can talk about it and decide. You have two weeks—”

Beside Viktor, Chris, in all his angelic glory, curly blonde hair framing his face, leaned forward in his seat and blurted out, “ _Big booty bitch_.”

“I second that,” Viktor agreed immediately.

Yakov stared at the two of them for a second. “No! Take the two weeks and come back to me!”

It was a week later, after Chris had come from the free port past midnight, bottles of absinthe tied to his legs under his trousers, that Viktor rushed into Yakov’s quarters with Makkachin, who pounced on Yakov in bed. “We got it,” said Viktor, grinning madly.  “Green Fairy!”

He received an earful about how Rangers should neither encourage alcoholism nor wake up the Marshal for nonsense at three AM.


	2. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yakov, you know Yuuri and I are Drift compatible,” cried Viktor. “You saw it! We practically had sex in the Kwoon!” At his side, a choking sound was heard, presumably Chris repressing laughter.
> 
> There was a loud slam on the table, where Yakov’s hand now rested. “Viktor Yakovlevich,” he said slowly, “why are you like this?”

The quarters assigned to Viktor was 47B2—Level 47, Corridor B, Room 2, he learned quickly. He’d been familiar with the numbering system during the month he’d stayed when Tokyo Shatterdome was newly erected, but remembering anything outside of construction and being a Ranger was difficult lately. The place was a square room with just enough space for basic amenities, smaller than the one he’d shared with Chris in Vladivostok but larger than the one he’d slept in as a wall worker. Folded uniforms with PPDC logo and of better quality than the few shirts in his duffel bag were already set in the steel cabinet, and the bed was covered with fresh linen.

As he stepped out, the door across his inched open slowly and the black nose of a coffee-colored dog poked out, followed by its tiny body. Viktor blinked and hurried forward to crouch in front of the poodle—small but otherwise almost exactly like Makkachin. It nibbled at his index finger and he was in love.

“Where’s your owner?” he asked, burying his fingers into its soft curls. He peered through the gap where it had come from but there was no one inside. Scooping the dog into his arm, he closed the door and proceeded down the corridor. He cooed nonsense to it, though he firmly believed he was speaking a universal dog language. He stopped at 47B12 and knocked with one foot.

Lilia had her hair down, swept to the side over her left shoulder, when she welcomed Viktor into her quarters. Soothing violin played from the inside. Behind her, there was a boof.

“Makkachin!” cried Viktor. His heart swelled, and there was a prickle in his eyes. “I missed you!”

Lilia watched as he entered, cradling the toy poodle in an arm and reaching out for Makkachin with the other, then she closed the door. Without a word, she sat down behind her desk, presumably to continue whatever she had been doing, clearly waiting for Viktor to finish getting five years’ worth of licking. Makkachin was healthy and happy, and she smelled great. He’d have to thank Yuuri.

“I see you’ve met your namesake,” said Lilia, after a while.

Viktor paused, stood up, then slumped onto the couch across her, a perfect pout on his lips. He sat the toy poodle on his lap, and Makkachin laid beside him, nuzzling his side. He held his glare for about thirty seconds before huffing. “I trusted you,” he said.

Lilia didn’t even look up. “You can’t guilt-trip me.”

“You ratted me out.” His voice came out as a whine. “When I trusted you,” he repeated.

“Yes. And it was for the greater good, Vitya.”

Viktor’s pout became more pronounced, but Lilia was unaffected. He sighed. “You said this dog is my namesake?”

“Vicchan.”

“Vicchan,” Viktor repeated, tilting his head to the side.

“It’s a nickname. Japanese.”

“Japanese? Katsuki? Yuuri?”

Lilia put down her pen then shook her hand as if tired, but her manner of shaking seemed as though her hand was dancing to the music, like in the old videos Viktor had watched when he was younger. His favorite had been Grigorovich’s _The Sleeping Beauty_ by the Bolshoi Ballet, where Lilia had been Aurora. Despite the sudden career change, she had never let her form slip from that of a _prima ballerina assoluta_. Even now, she sat in her chair with her ankles overlapping almost twice.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s a good Ranger.”

“Ah, so he _is_ a Ranger!” When Lilia gave him an inquiring look, he explained: “He doesn’t seem to like me. And he wouldn’t tell me if he were one.”

Lilia frowned. “Katsuki... doesn’t like you,” she repeated in a deadpan.

“See, I knew it.”

“Vitya.”

Viktor interrupted her. “Lilia,” he said, voice turning serious, “I’d like to thank you for telling Yakov where I was. The wall... was accepting defeat.”

Lilia was surprised by that. Then she smiled. “And here I thought you’d still be a whiny brat.”

“I still am!” Viktor sounded almost defensive he had to laugh at himself. “But it was getting harder to stay still.” He looked down and met Vicchan’s eyes, half-lidded from pleasure.

The timing was perfect: Nakamori-san was barely an adult when he’d come to the site to seek a job to provide for his seven siblings, top of wall; Yukiko-obaasan had always let Viktor pet her adopted stray dog, and she had a terrible pain on her back when she scaled down a beam yesterday, bottom of wall; and Mori-san had been in his forties, with a permanent scowl and a bald patch, and had often slid a free drink in Viktor’s direction at the end of the week, middle of wall. They were this morning’s victims, represented by three new ration cards up for grabs.

“I didn’t immediately tell Yakov where you were,” said Lilia with an amused but fond expression. “I had to remind him we’re divorced three times first.”

“You’re so cruel, Lilia.”

“Cruel?” She scoffed. “I didn’t leave for five years and called only once or twice a year.”

“When will you forgive me?” Viktor’s lower lip jutted out. “You’re the only one privileged enough to have talked to me.”

“I understand why you had to leave. I’d have wanted you to stay, however.” She sighed, and her eyes darted at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. Does Katsuki know you have his dog? Regardless, I sent him a message that Vicchan is with you, but best return him now. The combat tests start at eight-hundred hours sharp. Make sure you’re warmed up before then.”

Viktor bid Lilia goodnight and left accompanied by two poodles, Vicchan in his arms and Makkachin tottering by his side—like a good dream, honestly, after five years of deprivation. At the end of the corridor, sitting on the steps across Viktor’s door was Yuuri, dressed for bed in a thin, white shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants hugging his form. As he neared, Viktor noticed the fresh smell of soap and shampoo. Yuuri stood up, and he wore an expression that was almost like a grimace. Lilia was right, Viktor thought, Katsuki didn’t like him for whatever reason. He felt a twinge in his chest, like he was upset. He supposed he didn’t have to like Yuuri, too, even if he had a cute dog. And a cute face, though he was more than cute tonight: Beads of water trickled down Yuuri’s neck and his wet hair was slicked back. Paired with his blue-rimmed glasses, there was something comfortable and domestic about him.

“I’m sorry for stealing Vicchan.” Viktor tried for a careless, clumsy voice, one that had endeared an interviewer back then. He rubbed his nape and crinkled the corner of his eyes for effect. “He was so cute.”

He bent down to release Vicchan, who immediately jumped up to reach Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri knelt to pick him up, and they found each other face-to-face. Yuuri reddened and straightened up. Viktor did the same.

“You know his name?” Yuuri asked.

“Vicchan? Yes, Lilia told me. What a coincidence. I’m glad that I have the same name as an adorable poodle! Vicchan went out of the room, and I tried to see if anyone was inside—”

“What?” Yuuri looked panicked. “ _What_?” he repeated, his voice higher and louder.

“I’m sorry I was nosy! I didn’t go inside, though, I swear.”

“N-no.” Yuuri frowned. “No, I’m sorry. I probably forgot to lock again. Chris dragged me out in a hurry—” He shook his head. “Usually Vicchan stays and waits for me.”

Viktor was delighted. “He came out for me!” Beaming, he held out a hand. “By the way, I’d like to personally thank you for taking care of Makkachin. She’s an old poodle, but she looks very healthy.”

“It was nothing.” Yuuri didn’t take Viktor’s hand. He looked nervous. “I like dogs. I have to sleep. Early day tomorrow. Goodnight!” With that, he ran into 47B1 and shut it, leaving Viktor and Makkachin staring.

 

* * *

 

His new bedroom was bigger than the one in St. Petersburg, Viktor thought. The ceiling had lines on them, and the walls were covered with yellow wallpaper—almost green if you squinted, like barf, but Viktor didn’t mind, because it was bright. The floor creaked when he went to the bed, and he knew if he tried hard enough, he could probably play a song with his feet.

He noticed that the windowpanes had stickers, most of them scratched off. They could be anything now. Mama didn’t let him bring his toys because they’d get shipped soon, she said, but he still snuck off some pens and crayons into his rucksack. The airport guards didn’t know about them, too, because they didn’t scold him. Mama told him to rest after the long travel, but he only ever slept in the plane. He’d draw Cheburashka on the window instead.

 

* * *

 

At five o’clock, Viktor bolted up from his bed, which was much more comfortable than what he’d been used to. It took him a while to remember that he won’t be going to the construction today, that he won’t be mourning three people he’d barely known but connected with nonetheless as he welded beams together. He wasn’t escaping anymore.

Going down the elevator, he realized that he forgot to shave. He touched his chin and felt the fuzz of hair. No time for that now. He stepped onto the second floor with Makkachin and went to the mess hall, the noisiest place in the Shatterdome at this time.

Multiple long tables lined up in two, creating an aisle in between, where people ran back and forth. Viktor stood at one of the entryways at both ends of the room, and from where he was, the food station was on his left, serving breakfast to a queue of Rangers and crew. On the wall behind the counter, the worn, faded poster that said _VICTORY! It begins with you_ was still holding up _._ Someone from above called his attention; Viktor looked up to see Alain Leroy coming down the mezzanine, two stuffed metal plates in his hands. Makkachin perked up.

“Viktor!” said Alain. A stocky man who wore a cap with a maple leaf design indoors, he had sleepy eyes, strong eyebrows, and a wide grin. “Come sit with us.”

“Oh, I’m okay, thank you.”

Viktor wasn’t keen on spending his first official day with strangers. He’d known Alain from a three-Jaeger team drop back in August 2017 in Manila, but they’d never talked much beyond strategy; gigantic Jaegers keeping them apart didn’t exactly make conversation easy.

“Ah, come on,” Alain urged, “there’s plenty of room at our table.” He handed Viktor one of the steel plates and led him to a bench.

“I haven’t seen bread in a while.”

“Tokyo. That’s the beauty of an open port. No rationing. We’ve got potatoes, peas, sweet beans, some decent meatloaf.” He reached out for a platter. “Viktor, this is my son, Jean-Jacques—JJ. He’s my co-pilot now.”

And Viktor noticed, for the first time, the man sitting across the table, leaning on his elbow and presenting a smarmy grin. “So,” he said, “you’re the guy, eh? You’re gonna run defense for us in that old rust bucket of yours.”

Viktor snuck Makkachin a few strips of bacon as they waited for her kibbles. He kissed her head fondly and then forked a bite of meatloaf in his mouth. It was better than anything he could’ve afforded with his measly construction pay.

“When’s the last time you jockeyed, Vik? Five years? What have you been doing? Something pretty important, maybe.”

There was something sweet about the potatoes, too, Viktor thought. They were probably as fresh as they could be.

“He was in construction, JJ,” said Alain.

“Oh, that’s really useful. We get into a fight, and you can build our way out of it, eh, Vik?”

Viktor looked up, realizing they were talking to him. “It’s Viktor, Jeffrey,” he said and went back to his food.

“Whatever,” said JJ, standing up. “See you later, Dad.” He left.

“He can be a bit nervous sometimes,” said Alain apologetically. “It’s rare, but—you know…”

Viktor nodded distractedly; one of the food crews arrived with Makkachin’s food bowl. “Thank you!” he said with a gracious smile.

 

* * *

 

 

“I tried to match them to your Drift pattern,” said Chris, pushing Viktor’s back down as he stretched.

There were a few spectators loitering around while candidates did their own warm-ups at the one side of the mat, huddled together meters away from Viktor. He was surrounded by people speaking in Japanese, unaware he could understand them. What was with people assuming he wasn’t multilingual? 

“One of us could be the one to save the legendary Viktor Nikiforov from being a leftover.”

They laughed.

 _Leftover_ , they said. Viktor rarely, if ever, got angry, but the implication that he was a leftover because Chris was _injured_ , as if Chris was not crucial to Operation Pitfall, as if Chris was as good as KIA, fired him up.

“Don’t mind them,” said Chris in French after noticing his muscles tensing.

“It’s not for me.”

And that was as close as Viktor got to apologizing.

Yakov and Lilia arrived at eight o’clock sharp and stood together by the entrance, waiting. As for Viktor, he positioned near the center of the mat, bouncing at the balls of his feet. He did last-minute arm stretches as one of the candidates stepped forward. If he were being honest, Viktor would never be Drift compatible with any of the candidates, and he refused to be, not when he carried a part of Chris’s memory in his head. The level of respect necessary to sync with his and Chris’s mind would be tremendous work for any of them.

Flicking his fringe to the side, Viktor readied himself, balancing the hanbō in one hand. It was just a stick, about three feet long, but the familiarity helped him center himself.

“Go,” said Chris, holding up a digital clipboard.

Candidate number one was a tall, lean guy. There was something irritating about his face. Perhaps it was the way he sniffed like everything about him was disgusting. Perhaps it was because he was the one who called Viktor a leftover. He advanced with haphazard lunges and careless slashes that barely approached an inch of Viktor, who easily moved to get out of the way. Then Viktor bore his staff under his opponent’s, pulled until he spun and then pushed him down the floor.

Chris noted something in his clipboard. “One-zero.”

For the next four points, Viktor didn’t even give the man a chance to attack. It was over with Viktor pointing his stick at the man’s chest. _I trained with Chris_ , he thought fiercely.

“Five-zero. Next up, Edogawa.”

Edogawa was candidate number two and one of the people who had laughed. He stepped onto the mat with a flashy entrance, as though the twirling of his hanbō indicated enough skill to intimidate; the leader of a marching band could do just as much.

Finding an opening, Viktor struck to the head. One point—but he wasn’t finished: He followed it up with a strike to the left shoulder with an upward motion, and another from overhead using the other tip, then a swing from the left. Viktor’s last strike was on the right shoulder before hooking it under Edogawa’s arm and neck to push him face-down on the floor.

“Five—well, six-zero. Next.”

The third one was just as much of a challenge as the previous candidates. Viktor flipped him with a stick under the knee and attacked the crucial point areas.

“What the hell, Viktor,” said Chris exasperatedly. “Five-zero.”

Viktor smiled. “I guess they weren’t Drift compatible with me, after all,” he said cheerfully. “Too bad there are no more candidates.”

“Don't worry, we saved the best for last. He’s been doing his warm-ups in the hall.” A pause. “Well. Best and worst. You'll see.”

A few seconds later, Yuuri Katsuki entered the Kwoon, hair slicked back and skin glowing, and he looked just as glorious as he did yesterday. He was hugging a rolled-up yoga mat, which he put down beside a bag on a bench along with his glasses, then he shuffled shyly to face Viktor with a staff on one hand. Briefly, he closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, then exhaled, and when he opened his eyes, there was a look of pure determination; he was almost different.

Viktor was stunned. Yuuri, who seemed to have an intense dislike for him, was the last person he expected to be the fourth candidate. One of the spectators whooped, “You can do this, Yuuri!” And Viktor realized that the pilots of Terra Incognita were present.

“Go.”

Yuuri was embarrassed by Phichit Chulanont’s cheer and got distracted that Viktor’s basic front strike went through.

“One-zero.”

Viktor tried Yuuri’s neck, but Yuuri parried him quickly and went for a counter to his side, a crack under the rib. Viktor winced.

“One-one.”

There was amusement in Chris’s voice, like he was enjoying this. Viktor was surprised to say he was the same, despite the pain; no one had managed to match him in combat before besides Chris. It seemed he might be in for a ride. This time, Viktor moved even faster. He aimed to push his staff under Yuuri’s, pulled him closer, swept his foot under, and suddenly, they were on the floor. Yuuri struggled for a second, wiggling his hips, before the mutual recognition of their position: Viktor straddling Yuuri’s hips and his staff horizontal under Yuuri’s chin.

“Two-one.”

Viktor didn’t move, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Vitya, get off Katsuki,” Yakov grunted.

So Viktor did. He held out a hand, and Yuuri took it. Yuuri’s whole body was red, but his expression was one of focused tenacity: eyebrows drawn together and lips pressed firmly.

Viktor lunged forward, and Yuuri immediately deflected him, but he wasn’t done: He flipped the staff and aimed the other end towards Yuuri’s head—also deflected. Viktor swept to the side and swung at Yuuri’s leg, but Yuuri pushed back his staff to block and copied his attack. Viktor jumped to avoid, Yuuri rolled, and suddenly Viktor’s back was on the floor, Yuuri in between his thighs spread wide open, his shank trapped with a staff under Yuuri’s arm. The position was very suggestive, and Viktor felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He was frozen on the spot as Chris said, “Two-two.”

His own defense was weak, Viktor realized. His attacks were quick and strong, and he didn’t need to defend before, but now…. To match up with Yuuri, he’d need to learn fast. Yuuri’s attacks weren’t stellar, but his defense was impenetrable, as though tailor-made just for his moves. With the defense-counter combinations, he could be the best Ranger that Viktor had fought. Even better than Chris. Viktor hadn’t felt this much excitement in _years_. There was one last round to settle the fight, but Viktor didn’t care. He could feel electricity in the air, a familiar feeling as he fought with Yuuri. But he had to make sure. He fought the urge to wink at Yuuri, to let him know how this fight was making him feel.

They circled around each other, waiting for the other to attack. Viktor knew Yuuri was more comfortable being on the defensive, so he gave in eventually. He made to tap Yuuri’s shoulder, and obviously, Yuuri blocked it. Then Viktor saw, almost in slow motion, Yuuri’s counter. It was then that it began to happen: Viktor anticipated what Yuuri was about to do, which was a flick under his arm, but he reversed his staff and blocked. He attacked, Yuuri parried and countered, then he did the same. It was as if they were working on a pattern only they knew without even so much as a word. Every attack came with a counter, an advance with a retreat, and they trod the whole mat with their personal dance. Viktor could only hear the snaps of their hanbō, the whistle in the air as they slashed at each other, the panting from their mouths, shallow breaths with each lunge. The fight had become so intimate it was overwhelming. Some kind of desire tingled in Viktor’s limbs. What desire, he didn’t know, but there was something about Katsuki Yuuri—

A clear, crisp voice cut through them: “Enough,” said Lilia.

They stopped at the exact same time. Yuuri darted out of the mat to gather his belongings into his arms and turned to leave, barefoot and all, without so much as a word to Viktor despite what had happened. Viktor was puzzled.

“Alright, Vitya,” said Yakov, “report to the Shatterdome in two hours and find out who your co-pilot will be.”

People began to disperse but Viktor stood rooted on the spot.

“Yakov.” Viktor tried to keep his voice steady. “Yuuri’s my co-pilot.”

“Sergeant Baranovskaya, Giacometti, and I will deliberate. See you in two hours.”

That was suspect. The three of them proceeded out of the room, back to Yakov’s office. Viktor pulled on his official PPDC jumper over his sweaty torso—it was disgusting but he was in a hurry—and ran, shoes hanging by two fingers in one hand and rucksack clutched on the other. He swerved a couple of people in the corridor, but he failed to reach the elevator in time. Cursing internally, he pushed the up button and waited.

It took Viktor ten minutes to get properly dressed in the elevator and grab a towel from his room to wipe his face before marching on to knock to Yakov’s office. The voices inside the room paused as footsteps neared.

Yakov pulled the door open, sighed, and said, “Get inside.”

“Listen, Yakov, Yuuri’s my co-pilot.”

“Sit down, Vitya,” said Lilia, and Viktor complied with a scowl.

“The problem is,” said Yakov with a deeper scowl, “that was Katsuki’s best performance.”

That bewildered Viktor. _How is that a problem?_ he was about to ask when Chris spoke:

“When I said Yuuri is our best and worst... I meant that he is a great fighter with a huge potential, but he is mentally weak. He’s inconsistent, Viktor. That’s what Yakov is worried about.”

“And you guys,” said Viktor slowly, turning from Chris to Lilia, “are not?”

Chris shrugged and smirked. “I can see Drift compatibility.” He softened the smirk into a smile. “And if I’m gonna trust my memories with someone, it’s with Yuuri.”

Viktor was glad to know he had Chris’s support. Lilia didn’t say anything.

“Giacometti,” said Yakov, “don’t make your vested interested too obvious. I might have to fire you.”

Chris scoffed. “You won’t,” he said confidently.

“Yakov, you know Yuuri and I are Drift compatible,” cried Viktor. “You saw it! We practically had sex in the Kwoon!” At his side, a choking sound was heard, presumably Chris repressing laughter.

There was a loud slam on the table, where Yakov’s hand now rested. “Viktor Yakovlevich,” he said slowly, “why are you like this?”

“I can’t Drift with anyone else. I know I can’t. Besides, the other candidates were _consistently_ bad.”

Yakov was about ready to tear his remaining hair out. He let out a frustrated groan. “Let’s put this on a vote,” he said, giving in. Briefly, he shot Lilia a pleading look. “Those in favor of Katsuki Yuuri being Viktor Nikiforov’s co-pilot, raise your hand.”

Viktor raised his hand, and Chris did too. Beside him, slowly, Lilia followed suit.

“Is it too much to ask for your support, Lilia?”

“We’re divorced.”

Yakov sighed. “Of course.”

“Excellent!” said Viktor, clapping his hands together. “I’ll report back in two hours for the neural test with Yuuri.”

If Viktor spent the next hour submerged in bath, there was nothing wrong with that. The hot water eased the strain on his muscles. At least, physically, he was doing better.

The shared shower room was empty at this time, the last person having finished just as Viktor came in. The place was bright, walled with large, pearl tiles, and the bath he was in was sizeable enough. It was off to one side, followed by the line of showers dangling from the ceiling. Outside, the walls buzzed with activity, deeply echoing against the tiles. Viktor had settled his clothes and basket on a dry bench and completely stripped.

The door pushed open made him look up to see who came in. It was Yuuri, who stared. Viktor wasn’t expecting to see Yuuri so soon, and his mind went blank. Of course, the last thing he expected himself to do was stand up and flourish out a hand in a grand gesture—which was to say, he did exactly that. “Yuuri!” he said. “Starting today we’re co-pilots!”

The realization that he was buck naked and exposing himself dawned on him a second later. He mentally cursed himself.

Yuuri didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, and Viktor felt awkward standing in the shallow water of the bath. The steam didn’t do much to hide his body.

Yuuri’s basket of shampoo and soap clattered on the tiled floor, quickly muffled by his clothes and towel. “ _What_?” he yelled, his voice reverberating in the chamber of the shower room. Viktor was certain the sound reached the end of the corridors.

Viktor held his welcoming smile. “Come bathe with me. As co-pilots, we need to _bond_.” He winked, which he immediately regretted. _Why did I do that?_ _What if he thinks I meant sex?_

  

* * *

 

 

Viktor had walked home from his school because Mama wasn’t around to pick him up, but it was fine, because he was old enough go out alone. He’d been hanging out in the music room when he realized he was alone at school. Besides, they’ve been in Korsakov long enough to know everyone. It was safe; everyone was a neighbor, after all.

He decided he’d drop by Mishka’s first to finally ask to teach him piano. He turned left of the colorful Lego house near the shopping district and into the narrow dirt road.

Korsakov was like a playground. It had low buildings here and there, some colorful, some plain. The sky was wide without the tall buildings. The town was noisy, but a different kind of noisy from St. Petersburg. The noise was clearer: Viktor knew if there was a docking boat by the port, how many birds passed by overhead, and what the fish vendor was selling. The ash trees along the paths had very few leaves at this time of the year, and he always thought that made the place look empty. Today, however, it was emptier.

There was something odd about the town, and it frightened him. He could feel a tremble under his feet as he hurried up the steps to Mishka’s front door. He knocked. He knocked again. He couldn’t breathe. The trembles turned into a harsh tremor, and there was a sound of a building getting destroyed, and another, it was getting closer. Whoever was destroying the town knew where he was.

He wouldn’t cry, he told himself as he squatted down and covered his head. The ground shook again. It was near, and there was screeching—a Kaiju was here. Mama had taught him the way to the Anti-Kaiju Shelter, but his legs wouldn’t move; they wouldn’t let him stand up and run away from Mishka’s door.

A loud blow deafened his ears. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the loud ringing. It kept ringing. He felt air slap his sides, the ground move beneath, but he himself couldn’t.

How long he stayed like that, he didn’t know. When he felt a hand on his shoulder he jumped back in shock, and his legs felt weak. It was a man who looked like a Power Ranger, but without the helmet. He had grey hair and dark skin, and he called Viktor a kid.

Standing in the ruins of Korsakov, Viktor held Yakov’s hand. “Starting today, you’re my papa,” he said.

The adoption papers were handled and done a year later. When the crews would ask what his name was, his response was either “Viktor Yakovlevich Feltsman!” or “Viktor Yakovlevich Baranovski!” Often, that would surprise them, and Viktor was pleased.

On one occasion, he’d heard the following conversation:

“I didn’t know Rangers Feltsman and Baranovskaya had a ten-year-old. Did you?”

“I think he was in St. Petersburg for a while? His accent sounds regional though.”

“Poor kid, being alone like that growing up. But he seems well-adjusted.”

“I think the couple’s been making up for the ten years they weren’t around.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many favorite scenes, like where Viktor does not notice JJ at all, or the Drift compatibility combat!
> 
> Should I make a glossary of Pacific Rim terms? Let me know if you need them.


	3. Chasing the Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Two pilots on board_ , a mechanical voice echoed overhead.

Unexpectedly, Yuuri had said yes to Viktor’s invitation to bathe together. He’d cleaned himself off under the farthest shower, and Viktor had tried to not look. If Viktor had glanced once in a while, it was an accident. In the waiting silence, Viktor heard Yuuri’s actions: lathering shampoo on his head, scrubbing himself clean, and then approaching. When he heard Yuuri step into the bath—the slight crinkle in the water’s surface told him so—he decided that he could finally look—and briefly, he saw the shadows through the haze before Yuuri splashed down. Water splattered onto the tiles.

“S-sorry!”

Viktor tried to say it was fine, that water would dry up, and that tiles were made for wetting, but he couldn’t. There was about five feet of distance between them. The steam clouded Viktor’s vision, but he could see that Yuuri was red from either the heat or the situation. Yuuri became two, three, and Viktor blacked out.

The scent from last night was strong in Viktor’s dreams. Sun. A hint of mint. Dog. Makkachin. He was hugging Makkachin in his sleep, his nose buried into her sweet-smelling fur. Makkachin was so small—

Viktor opened his eyes to find himself staring into small Makkachin. He sat up. Vaguely, he felt whatever he was wearing slip off his left shoulder. He brought the dog closer to his body and said to nobody in particular, “I’m hungry.”

From his right, there was a voice: “I’m sorry, I brought you to my room. Yours was locked, and I don’t know your code.”

Ah, Yuuri, who was beautiful, who was his co-pilot. He leaned until their faces were an inch apart. “Yuuri, tell me everything about you. What kind of training do you do?” He let go of Vicchan, who jumped off his lap to curl at his side. Reaching out, he touched Yuuri’s chin. “What’s in this Shatterdome?” His clothing slipped further and pooled at his hips. “Is there someone you like?” His other hand slid down Yuuri’s arm down to his hand. “Before we Drift, let’s build some trust in our relationship.”

Suddenly, Yuuri pushed himself back and almost toppled over his chair, and Viktor realized he wasn’t dreaming at all. What he thought he’d been wearing was simply a blanket over his body. He was still naked under. He tried to remember what had happened: he’d fainted from the heat of the bath and now he was in Yuuri’s room.

“You saved me, Yuuri! Wow.”

Perhaps Yuuri didn’t hate him, after all.

Yuuri glanced up at Viktor’s chest and then averted his eyes, looking at the desk to his side, where there was messy pile of folded posters. Viktor knew then Yuuri was trying not to stare at the circuit patterns on his torso, keloidal scars from where the drivesuit had burned onto his skin almost five years ago when he had to pilot Lilac Fairy to the nearest shore.

“I tried to call for help, but no one was on this floor,” Yuuri continued apologetically as he got up. His face was still red from the bath. “I was worried.”

Viktor couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re—you’re welcome!” Yuuri’s voice came out high-pitched. Then he grabbed a towel from a hanger and offered to Viktor while turning his back. “Now, if you could, uh—go to your room now and get dressed, please!”

“Sure,” said Viktor, standing up and wrapping the towel around him. By the entrance, he turned and asked, “Why don’t we go to the suiting area together?”

“You go ahead,” said Yuuri and he closed the door to the half-naked Viktor.

Yuuri was confusing, Viktor thought.

 

* * *

 

  

_Two pilots on board_ , a mechanical voice echoed overhead.

Viktor saw Yuuri enter, wearing a black drivesuit, like his. The first layer that clung to their skin was a wetsuit enmeshed with synaptic processors; Viktor could almost feel the circuitry aligning perfectly with his scars. The second layer was an armored outer shell covering the life support and magnetic interfaces that relayed all neural signals to and from the body.

Yuuri didn’t have his glasses, and his hair was slicked back. Five years ago, a white drivesuit was all the rage, but Viktor might prefer the black model now.

“You look good,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Yuuri replied curtly, and Viktor suppressed a pout.

They stepped onto the motion rigs, Viktor on the left and Yuuri on the right, where Chris had been. Viktor shook his head and focused as the console in front of him projected the Jaeger’s heads-up display. His helmet descended from the ceiling and clicked into place around his neck.

Through the helmet mic, Viktor said, “Soon we’ll be inside each other’s head.” He thought he heard Yuuri gulp before replying, “Yes.”

From LOCCENT, Matthieu spoke: “Engaging drop.”

The Conn-Pod roared to life as it prepared to move. Then, the floor jerked and rumbled, and the chassis began its cascade down the shaft. Viktor felt the familiar tickle in his stomach as it happened, and it was welcome, if a little weird. Beside him, Yuuri gave a small yelp and tumbled to the side. Viktor managed to hold him steady until the Conn-Pod decelerated and locked onto the Jaeger’s neck noisily.

“Thank you!” said Yuuri through the loud banging.

Viktor nodded.

It was odd, how yesterday he was reluctant to share his mind again with a stranger, how he thought it would only be Chris. Now, he was almost excited. Lilac Fairy turned on, and Matthieu came into view, sitting at his desk in the command center, Chris, Yakov and Lilia standing behind him. Yakov, in particular, couldn’t hide his apprehension. Viktor was glad Chris seemed confident and that Lilia was expressionless.

“Boys, are you ready?” asked Matthieu.

When Viktor checked on Yuuri, however, it would seem that they were not. Yuuri’s eyes were wide and blank as he stared off ahead. Viktor had already replied, “Yes,” but Yuuri said nothing.

“Are you—"

At the back of LOCCENT, the door slammed open, and Otabek entered. “Marshal,” he said before approaching. His expression was unreadable as he whispered something to Yakov, whose eyes bulged by each syllable uttered.

“ _What_?”

Viktor did not catch much from the feed, but it seemed serious enough to warrant Yakov leaving Lilia in charge of the neural test. He marched off, Otabek trailing behind him.

“We’ll proceed without the Marshal,” said Matthieu.

Overhead, there was an alarm, and the mechanical voice spoke again:  _Neural bridge initializing._

“Initiating neural handshake in ten… nine… eight…”

“Here it comes, Yuuri,” said Viktor. “Just watch the memories, and don’t hold on. Don’t chase the rabbit. Stay in the Drift. The Drift is silence.”

“… six…”

Yuuri nodded, his eyes closed. Then he looked at Viktor with determination, just like he had in the Kwoon.

“… one.”

 

* * *

 

 

Duffel bag on the floor, ballet shoes, leotard. Television. Jaeger seemingly dancing with a Kaiju before defeating it. Graceful, elegant. The Lilac Fairy, the reporter called it. Two young men interviewed. Christophe. And Viktor—Viktor Nikiforov with the stature of a danseur. Lilac Fairy figurines. Magazines. Posters.  _Oh, God, the posters_! Seventeenth birthday, Vicchan. From ballet to combat. You were mentored by the Ranger Lilia Baranovskaya? Ranger Viktor Nikiforov’s mother? Yes, in ballet, but we were classmates in the Academy.

Big, black umbrella. Helicopter. Snow. I imagined him differently, in Japanese. Long hair, gone. Sad.  _Ah_. I apologize, in Japanese. Apologize. Apologize to Yuuri, Chris, Lilia, Yakov, Makkachin. Scissors, before working at the wall. Pretending to be an old man. A new person.

I want to try out as candidate, Chris! I know I’m only a dime-a-dozen Ranger—Nobody thinks that, Yuuri.  _I am, though, how am I here_?  _Yuuri, you did great_.

Do you think Viktor Nikiforov chose Nikiforov as his celebrity name? Is it because he can’t choose between Feltsman or Baranovski? Viktor Nikiforov? Nikiforov…  _I’m adopted._  Yakovlevich. Papa Yakov. Yakov. Lilia. Korsakov. Empty house, empty neighborhood. Where is Mama? Mishka’s door. Onibaba.

  

* * *

 

 

Viktor raised an arm, and Yuuri did the same. They felt the weight of the Jaeger in their movement, and they knew, then, that Lilac Fairy moved, too.

“Neural handshake one hundred percent,” said Matthieu gleefully.

They formed a defensive stance. The Jaeger followed suit.

“Lilac Fairy is now a part of you,” said Viktor fondly.

Yuuri exhaled with relief. “I hope you’re not weirded out by my memories.”

“Those were posters of me?”

_Yes_ , Yuuri thought with embarrassment.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed!”  _I thought you hated me_ , was what he couldn’t say out loud.

_I would never_.

It was exhilarating, now that he knew he was right, how sparring with Yuuri in the Kwoon was as close to Drifting without the tools. Almost five years, and he only felt it again with Yuuri, and this time, in Lilac Fairy, it was amplified to the hundredth degree. They began to perform drills prescribed by LOCCENT without a hitch. It was indescribable, Drifting, and Drifting with Yuuri was perfect and right, like they were meant to click. Drifting with Chris was an all-time high, where it was aggression and passion, and sometimes, Viktor missed that. A small twinge of insecurity made itself present in the Drift. Viktor quickly explained mentally, but Yuuri brought a balance, allowing to center himself.

He felt Yuuri’s awe and wonder.

_It’s true_ , Viktor told him.  _You feel it, right_?

_Yes_.

Viktor turned to look at Yuuri with a grin. Except it wasn’t Yuuri—

Chris recoiled from a painful blow from Knifeshoes, and Viktor fell back, too. A twisted claw had pierced through the hull, right into Chris’s arm, and Chris screamed; Viktor felt it, the pain from the Drift. He shook his head, as if that would shake out the memory of Knifeshoes away, but too late, Yuuri already saw it.

“I’m in control!” Viktor shouted. “It’s all right!”

But Knifeshoes wouldn’t go away.

 

* * *

 

“Both out of alignment!”

 

* * *

 

The sky changed, from night at sea to morning. They weren’t in the Jaeger anymore, but in the ruins of a town. It wasn’t Korsakov, and Viktor could tell from the architecture they were in still Japan. Tremors moved the ground, like a pulsing earthquake. In the distance, a Kaiju destroyed what buildings remained standing. It stumbled forward, limbs difficult to control, like a cursed creature disallowed proper parts. It whipped its wide tail back and forth, causing the ground to shudder with every hit.

Beside Viktor was a teenager, staring in horror. Viktor felt anger and fear, but he knew it wasn’t his.

“Yuuri,” said Viktor desperately. “Don’t get stuck. Yuuri. Let it pass.”

Knifeshoes lunged forward, coming nearer. Some of its scales flew off from hitting debris. Yuuri screamed, and raised his arm.

On the heads-up display, a warning: WEAPON SYSTEM ENGAGED.

Viktor heard Lilia’s voice somewhere: “Failsafe!”

“The connection is too strong,” cried Matthieu. “There’s a problem with the neural blocker!”

Viktor felt Lilac Fairy’s arm move; the plasma cannon was getting deployed. Alarm bells rang outside the Jaeger and in the Shatterdome.

He turned to Yuuri. “This is just a memory, Yuuri. This isn’t real.”

“How can you say that? Knifeshoes is real,” Yuuri replied. He was crying. “It’s destroying Hasetsu, the onsen, and Minako-sensei’s studio! The Nishigoris… they…”

The cannon was fully charged, and LOCCENT and the rest of the Shatterdome would be a direct hit. Lilia, Chris, Mattheiu, the audience watching in the Scramble Alley. All of it would be fried and gone.

“Yuuri! It’s my fault! I left Knifeshoes alive. I’m sorry!”

Then the Kaiju shrieked. They both looked as Knifeshoes stumbled forward its own claws, which pierced through its chest. As it tried to disentangle, the more flesh was scratched out from itself. Slowly, Yuuri lowered his arm. Lilac Fairy retracted the plasma cannon. The Shatterdome was quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me! reginarfic@tumblr.
> 
> \- Check out related _monsters at our door_ files like art and dossiers [here](http://reginarfic.tumblr.com/tagged/monsters-at-our-door).  
>  \- Listen to the _monsters at our door_ [playlist.](https://reginarfic.tumblr.com/post/162306093683/monsters-at-our-door-a-pacific-rim-au-playlist-by)


End file.
